Nine: The Beginnings of a Legend
by Bleak Dawn
Summary: AU - "The harder will the fall be. Try to keep up". With 54 million records sold worldwide, awards winners several times over, concerts sold out in matter of hours; how did the rock band "Nine" reach this kind of dazzling fame in less than ten years? Are all the rumours about them really unfounded? What secrets are hidden between the four members and who are they really?
1. Step Into The Ring

**Nine: The Beginnings of a Legend**

By

_I-AM-CHUCK-BASS_

Translation :_ Bleak Dawn_

Beta:_ Violet_

**T/n**: Hello and welcome everyone, this is a translation that I am really happy to share with you. As mentionned in the summary, it's an AU and it's a non-magical fanfiction HOWEVER please, don't let that bother you because, trust me, it's really worth a shot, otherwise I wouldn't be translating. I hope you enjoy this first chapter and happy reading to you all.

OOO

The autocue screen counting down the seconds to the opening credits of the show was at eleven. The lights illuminating the audience who were receiving last-minute instruction—"_when you see the green signal, you applaud. When it's red, you laugh…"_—were already starting to fade while the technicians hurried to adjust the cameras that were positioned at several places in the room. On the set, the hostess was still getting her hair and make-up done by the staff while she looked over her cards and reread them quickly, her lips moving with supernatural speed.

"Ten seconds left!" Someone announced.

The hostess shot to her feet abruptly, barely avoiding receiving her make-up artist's brush in the eye, then inspected the coffee table where five water glasses were sitting along with a CD case.

"Peggy, where are the water bottles?!" she shouted to her assistant who was dealing with some tweaks with the sound technician.

"Shit." The girl hissed before sprinting all the way to the backstage.

"Eight seconds!"

"Should I take your cards?" her hair-stylist asked.

The hostess skimmed over the four small square of cardstock then took a deep breath before handing them to the woman.

"Five seconds!"

Peggy came back, breathless, and put down six small bottle of spring water—whose brand was one of the show's sponsors—on the table.

"There's one too many, you idiot!" the hostess barked out, irritated.

"I'm sorry…" Peggy stammered taking the extra bottle off the table before disappearing off-set with it.

"Three seconds! Get ready."

The hostess took another deep breath, eyes closed.

"…two…one…GO!"

When she opened them, she had a dazzling smile in place. While the audience was applauding loudly at the green light signal, she crossed her legs gracefully while running a hand in her brown her.

"Hello, hello dear viewers and welcome to the _Jenny Dillinger Show_!" she cooed while the clapping was in no way subsiding. "You are ever many to watch us every Saturday night and we are so thankful! Tonight—"Jenny Dillinger paused and smirked. "Tonight, when I announce who our guests are, I think you will all pass out."

Red signal—cue for the audience to laugh. Jenny joined her hands, excited.

"During the eight years of their career, their appearances on the small screen can be counted on the fingers of one hand. And yet, _we_ were able to convince them to come on our show for the release of their highly, highly, highly awaited fourth album."

Jenny's smile turned into a full-blown grin.

"I am keeping you in suspense, right?" she teased, offering a wink at the camera.

The audience laughed again.

"No, really. If I tell you the name of my guests today, I think some of you might not survive it." She affirmed shaking her head gravely. "So, should I tell you…or not?"

"YES!" yelled the audience.

"Yes, I should tell or yes I should keep it to myself and the show stops right now?" she shouted again, grinning almost hysterically at the audience's palpable excitement—some had even stood up, trying to glimpse (in vain) into the backstage.

Jenny got to her feet then and, at that exact moment, a solemn music akin to drum rolls resounded over the whole set, increasing the audience's impatience further.

"Almost 60 million copies sold worldwide, eighteen awards, tour tickets sold out in less than twelve hours, songs that are already famous and that had everyone in agreement, ladies and gentlemen, dear viewers, give a warm welcome, here on the Jenny Dillenger show, to…NINE!"

While the chorus of 'Insane', one of the group's most famous singles, played in the background, the curtain rose slowly revealing the four members of the group Nine.

During the seven years of Jenny hosting the talk-show, she had never seen an audience going so wild. There were 'I love yous' alongside the name of each member being shouted left and right, merging with hysterically screamed out 'NINE!'. A chain-like barrier of security agents was standing in front of the first row while a girl sitting there fainted. Another one was crying – or in hysterics, if you like – while pointing toward the band. Some fans were pushing with all their might again the staff, screaming to reach the set. And there was another girl on the third row who fainted while the one sitting next to her bawled her eyes out, unable to stop herself from yelling the band's name in an endless litany.

It was really a sight to behold.

Draco waved toward the audience, causing the already reigning frenzy to triple. He was the leader/guitarist of the group and his huge popularity split in equal measure with that of the singer, who was as charismatic as she was mysterious, Hermione. He had long shaggy platinum hair and a few strands fell over his anthracite eyes.

For the talk-show, he was wearing simple faded-jeans, which were shredded in multiple places, with a white shirt that had the first three buttons undone and the sleeves dismissively pulled over his forearms and black leather boots that climbed a little over his ankles. It apparently seemed that he hadn't given much thought about his appearance and his apparel for the show was way so simplistic for a person whose fortune could easily be counted in billions of Galleons that Jenny was astonished. She had expected something more—well, anyway. They were here, and that's all that mattered.

Theo was on his right. Crocking his head to the side, he threw a devastating wink at the camera, along with a faint smile that was both very childish and involuntarily charming. Brunette, emerald green eyes, lovely dimples on his cheeks, Theodore was Nine's very energetic and very young drummer. He seemed as though he'd never aged since the beginnings of the band.

Blaise, too, waved to the frantic audience, quite impressed by the welcome. He whispered something to Draco who laughed, shaking his head and his eyebrows lifted. Blaise wore a black tuxedo vest with pants and a shirt of the same color, which fitted his chocolate-milk complexion beautifully. When he deigned taking off his shades, his beautiful light brown eyes were revealed. He was the band's bass player.

When finally Hermione appeared, Jenny thought that the staff wouldn't be able to contain all the craziness. The blood-red lips of the group's only female moved in a "hello everyone" that was completely drowned by the screams of the audience. She came to stand opposite Draco, near Blaise, and then raked her eyes over the room, biting her lip.

The singer of Nine was wearing a three quarter shirt with a picture of the Queen of England barred with two huge red lines, a short black lace skirt revealing a garter belt suspended to fishnet stockings that reached a bit over her knees and worn out hipsters black Doc Martens on her feet. Her raven black curly hair, which initially reached the small of her back, was tied in a lazy bun, making the amber color of her almond-shaped eyes pop, eyes that were framed by dark eye shadow and underlined by a thick line of eyeliner.

She was petite, the smallest out of all of them, and thin but she had a certain presence and radiated a unique aura. She was the band's soul.

"How wonderful to have you here!" Jenny exclaimed while the group approached the couch in one synchronize movement. "You nearly launched a real live riot!"

In the audience, the staff was slowly calming the all-around hysterics but some people were still screaming the band's name.

"Oh my God! You are even more beautiful in person than in your pictures! I think am in love," Jenny said sincerely, putting a hand to her heart while Draco leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek.

What followed didn't last more than two miniscule seconds but the hostess didn't miss it. Blaise shot a glance toward Theo who shot him one back before then both turned their eyes toward Hermione.

The latter seemed unaffected but she stared so intensely at Jenny that her eyes could have pierced a hole in the hostess's skull. Then, when the hostess turned her attention toward her to welcome her, her eyes changed abruptly and she feigned an enchanted smile, leaning toward the woman to kiss her, too. Half an amused smile emerged on Theo's lips while Blaise merely smirked inconspicuously.

"Have a seat, have a seat!" Jenny said hurriedly, taking a place in her own chair when she was done greeting each of the members.

Hermione took a place at the other end of the sofa, smiling and crossing her legs. Draco, who was initially supposed to sit next to her, glanced quickly at the empty space and kept standing a while longer, waving at the audience some more. Meanwhile, Blaise sat next to their singer. And then it was Theo's turn to take a seat. Draco finally lowered himself at the other end of the couch, next to the drummer.

The fact that he had delayed sitting on the sofa and that he was, yet again, opposite Hermione didn't escape the hostess' attention.

"What a pleasure for us to have you here tonight!" she repeated, eyes still glued to Draco.

He brought the microphone to his mouth, smiling.

"That's a shared pleasure," he said with velvet voice that rung around the set.

There was some more feminine screaming from the audience.

"You are a rare sight! Even for a simple interview, it's crazy! I can only thank you for agreeing to come to America, on our show today."

"To live happy, live hidden!" Draco declared before turning toward the audience, "and we have you, too, to thank for this warm welcome, it truly warms our hearts."

The audience applauded at his words even before the green signal told them to.

"It's true that you are the perfect illustration of the French proverb," Jenny exclaimed, referencing the guitarist's first statement. "And talking about happy, I think you must be, entirely! At barely twenty five, you have succeeded in bending the music industry to your will, and to impose yourselves masters on the international scene among the greatest rockers…how do you explain this success? I'm still quite baffled by it."

Draco turned toward the three other members. Theo took the floor:

"To be honest, that's what we ask ourselves almost every day," confessed the youngest of the band. "The success, all of this really, it just sort of happened suddenly, just dropped on us…"

"Yes, we weren't expecting it at all," Draco admitted with a shake of his head.

"…basically, we were just doing music more out of passion than anything else, we weren't necessarily looking to get famous worldwide as we now are, but it was more about sharing our…our universe, our way of seeing thing, of living them, our love for music to the world. When our first album reached the top of the sells, it had been something absolutely unexpected for us! A real shock, honestly."

"On that subject, we really want to thank you all sincerely and from the bottom of our hearts for the fans who have been following us since 'The King', our first album…" picked up Blaise, leaning forward.

At that exact moment, the jacket of the album was projected on the big screen of the set. The black background showed Hermione, hunched over a velvet throne with red cushions, her legs widely spread, her right knee casually leaning over the right armrest, the undone laces of her Converses dangling to the floor. A light cigarette was at her lips and a diamond tiara rested among her short black hair.

"The King" was hand-written in white in the right corner of the jacket, near the label 'Parental Advisory'.

"…and without whom none of this would have been possible; you really are the actor of our success. It's to you that all the honors should rightfully go."

Sudden screams erupted as a response, love declaration for the bassist shot from the bleachers. Blaise laughed slightly, surprised, his shades hiding his eyes again, while Theo threw another wink at the camera and Draco was grinning devastatingly.

As for Hermione, she remained motionless in her corner with detachment, a conventional smile at her lips, looking guarded. She hadn't opened her mouth since the interview started and Jenny turned to her for the first question on her cards.

"As you can see, the audience is really moved by your words and this right here, giving them your thanks, is a huge proof of humility. Nine. Where does your name come from by the way? What is it significance? Is the number nine of importance to you?"

Even though Jenny had been staring at Hermione to have her answer, the singer lowered her head and scratched the nape of her neck with her black polished fingernails, deliberately ignoring the journalist, while Draco took the microphone instantly.

"It's a bit like our lucky number,"

Jenny was frustrated; she would have wanted to hear the singer's voice.

"Or not really our lucky number, but more like the number that binds us together." Theo corrected.

"Yeah, that's it. It's more like that, indeed." Draco approved.

She decided to just leave her be. Disdainful. Maybe her head was so big that talking during a talk-show wasn't enough for her. Maybe she was even bored out of her skull. A lot of rumors were going around about her; one of them was that the woman was very talented but also very cold, scornful even. She never really smiled and talked only when it was strictly necessary. Being a part of the showbiz world, Jenny knew that it was wise not to give heed to such gossips that were often born out of jealousy. Still, she couldn't deny that this one was true.

Deliberately focusing her attention on Draco, she addressed him a large grin.

"So, you are "bound" by that number—interesting! Could you tell us more about this?" she encouraged them further, crossing her legs, turning her back definitely on Nine's singer.

"The number nine has had a primordial impact on the band's destiny until now. We are linked by that number. To give a simple example: Hermione is born on the 9th of December, Blaise on the 9th of May, Theo on the 9th of August and I was born on the 9th of February. We had our first concert together on the 9th of January, 1999 and signed our first real record deal three years later, on the 9th of April, 2002…"

"Indeed! There's a whole history behind that number."

"And the list goes on! It's really the entire group life that revolves around it. We aren't generally of superstition nature but at this point, we were forced to acknowledge there was something to it. Undeniably."

"A link, as I mentioned. It's incredible, incredible!" Jenny said enthusiastically.

Green signal. Applauds burst out from everywhere.

"My God—I have so many questions to ask you that I don't even know where to begin! And God only knows that a great deal of celebrities have sat right where you are now plenty of times!"

Red. Laughter.

"Go ahead, don't be shy about it, ask whatever runs through your mind." Theo encouraged, his omnipresent trademark smile in place.

"Hm, alright—what an opportunity! Well then, let's start with this new album coming up! Your fourth, correct?"

"Exactly," Blaise nodded.

"It is titled '_Body, Mind & Soul'_—what can you tell us about it? What's the essence of this album? Is it the album of maturity? What does—"

"I wouldn't say that it's the album of maturity," interrupted Hermione. "It's more like the album of new horizons. Just like ever album by the way. We are constantly evolving, climbing the ladder. We will surely see a goal, sooner or later, that is for now still unknown to us. And that goal, it will be the band's maturity. With '_Body, Mind & Soul'_, we have more or less gone back to the underground feel of our first albums, with more straightforward sonorities, a bit more aggressive and almost pulling toward the punk. The tackled subjects are also quite different. Without falling into the dark or macabre, they won't always be happy. We have done a real work of introspection on ourselves before returning to the studio to record and not lose our roots and our objectives. Because when you reach this level where success, fortune and fame are met, the music industry offers you two choices: the commercial way which excludes any shred of creativity and it's the way that many take for its easiness, and there's the way of our own desires and motivation, the riskier way. You really need to define what you want, and right from the start in order to not lose your way. And, with this album, we have tried everything possible to make it according to our tastes and our desires. To echo your previous term, if that may be called maturity, then so be it. Still, the fact remains that this album is a true back to the basics thing for us."

When she lowered the microphone and the audience started clapping and whistling furiously, Jenny was stunned, her mouth hanging open—that voice! It was as if she were singing. Hoarse but sensual, it broke at times and filled with a London accent that fit her persona perfectly. No artifices, just the essential. Every word, in her speech, found its place perfectly. And the sound of her voice just sort of fell from her lips, so atypical. Her irises tainted with an orange hue, framed by long black lashes, stared straight at you, almost unblinking. That rebellious strand of hair escaping from her bun which she tried to replaced nonchalantly while she continued to speak. It forced one to wonder if she wasn't doing it on purpose to enthrall her interlocutors.

It also forced one to wonder if it was indeed the same person who, just few minutes ago, was playing the high and mighty.

Jenny slowly nodded her head, almost on cloud nine, and then took the CD case that was on the table before staring at the camera.

"_Body, Mind & Soul,_ to be released on November 9th and on the 11th everywhere else across the Atlantic. If you are true fans of the _'Jenny Dillinger Show'_, you better run to the stores next week to get yourself a copy!" she exclaimed before turning back towards the band, addressing all of them this time, "well, well! I always feel like am floating on a little bubble seeing you here, right here in front of my eyes."

"Really?" Draco snorted, raising his eyebrows.

"Really! You can't imagine the effect you create in your wake. You all exude this sort of…aura, something really mystical. But here, when you are all together, I swear, the walls are going to start shaking!"

Draco and Blaise both burst out laughing. Hermione offered a half smile.

"That's very flattering, actually," Theo thanked her, joining his hands together before bowing his head reverently.

"To continue with the questions—which are, all of them I remind you, netizens' questions—there is one that seemed to be coming back a lot, or at least, seemed to always be in the top five," Jenny continued uncrossing and crossing her legs the other way again.

"Oh, you mean there's a top five?" Draco blurted out, a mirthful grin on his lips.

"You bet there is! Even a top hundred! You are making yourself so scarce and discreet concerning anything that involves your private lives that when we succeed in having you, even for a few seconds, there are hundreds of questions to ask you!"

In the audience, there was a new scream which startled Blaise. Draco raised his hands, palms up toward his chest.

"Go right ahead!" he said giving her the green light. "Ask whatever question you want. I won't guarantee, however, that we will be able to even graze the beginning of the hundred answers."

"Let's keep it to the essential in that case,"

She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, as she always did whenever she was about to dive into the heart of the interview's matter.

"How did you four meet?"

Draco's smirk widened, as if he had been impatiently awaiting that question. He turned toward Blaise, though, who then turned toward Theodore. Hermione had the same smile as Draco, but in a fainter way, and shot a sideway glance to boy next to her, curious about his answer. Theo cleared his throat, straightening himself on the sofa.

"It's…a rather long story actually. I will try to be brief, then." said the youngest, crossing his hands together.

"We are _all ears_," Jenny encouraged and in the audience, no one was uttering a sound.

* * *

**So? What do you think? worth it or not? Please review and let me know what you think, bad or good I'll take it, and of course the original author will hear about your opinion as well.**

_To be continued..._


	2. Strangers

**Nine: The Beginnings of a Legend**

By: _I-AM-CHUCK-BASS_

Translation :_ Bleak Dawn_

Beta:_ Violet_

**OOO**

"We come from the same high school _Hogwarts _which is located in the suburbs of Godrick's Hollow. I had just moved into the neighborhood and was in the tenth grade, as you call it here. Hermione was then in eleventh grade, both Draco and Blaise in the twelfth…when I really think about it…"

Theo had a small baffled smile, shaking his head.

"When you think about it…?" Jenny Dillinger encouraged.

Theodore shook his head again, as if to clear his thoughts, before giving her a pensive smile.

"When I think about it, think back on it, it feels weird! I was a million years away from imagining that we would become what we are today. I mean…we weren't _even talking_ back then…"

**OOO**

[**THEODORE**]

_I had come to town on the 9th of February with my father._

_We didn't really have any luggage except for two sports bags stuffed enough to burst with our respective clothes. The way to our place hadn't been easy to locate and I can still remember when we had turned in circles for almost two hours, drifting from bus to taxicabs, walking from one side of town to the other in the snow before finally finding our future home. I had been wearing canvas Converse sneakers that day—I'll remember this for the rest of my life—and I practically couldn't feel my feet anymore. Or my hands, for that matter. The hole in the pockets of my vest had deepened a long time ago._

_It wasn't really a house strictly speaking. The term wouldn't be right; a room at most. A small thirty-five square meter with a living-room, a small bathroom, a tiny kitchen and that's it—after all, what more did we really need? We had the essential and it was good enough. _

_My father had rummaged through his stuff and, some jeans thrown around later, had took out a small hot plate that he then plugged in. We sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other, hands over the source of heat, trying to warm up. Dad had taken out a pack of smokes that was almost empty from his pocket and placed one between his lips and lit up. He took a long drag, his cheeks hollowing while the flame consumed the tip of the cigarette, before propelling the smoke toward the ceiling, making sure it didn't come my way. Lowering his head, his stare met mine and a small half smile formed on his lips._

**OOO**

"You weren't even talking?" Jenny repeated, raising her impeccably plucked and shaped eyebrows.

"Not even once, can you believe that? We crossed paths, sure, we studied each other, at most. But not one word passed between us. At least, in the beginning…"

**OOO**

_I had a real complex, back then—that of always appearing younger than I was. When people were surprised by my real age, it made me want to throw a fit and skin them alive. I had let my hair grow long because of this. I was impatiently waiting for facial hair to grow because, for fuck sake, I still looked prepubescent!_

_We had rented a uniform for HOGWARTS. It was navy with the school's crest sown on the vest and it looked like a tux. I couldn't tire from wearing it every morning because, for once, I felt like a man. A real man. I spent hours in front of the mirror just looking at my reflection until my father started drumming on my door, yelling for me to get out. I tried several poses; hair tousled; I tried rough shapes and forms of different smiles; some brow frowning made in star-from-Hollywood; burning stares. Then I would berate myself for being a pompous narcissist while laughing before finally unlocking the door._

_HOGWARTS._

_The first day had been the worst of a long list. I couldn't find my place there. I barged in there in the middle of the school year so, obviously, I was a sort of freak in the eyes of everyone. People watched me, studied me, eyeballed me, and analyzed each and every one of my moves. Being of a rather easygoing and playful nature, I instantly felt uncomfortable. Not one single moment of tranquility. I was often tempted to skip whole afternoons because facing stares was that depressing and had me feeling lower than low. And this went on for a whole week. It was hard, hard…_

_A month._

_I had become so withdrawn that I could spend an entire day not hearing the sound of my own voice. I was lost…I didn't know what was wrong. Why was I having so much trouble to be accepted? Had I done something wrong? Had I done something that shocked people? Given a bad impression? Shit, I had done everything and anything imaginable in my power! Tried not to behave as a know-it-all even when, more often than not, I knew all the answers to the teachers' questions. Tried to laugh when someone said something funny in class. Tried to blend in the best I could in the melting-pot that was HOGWARTS. Tried to act natural, well adjusted, nonchalant, even with the jitters, the jitters, the jitters—and all those stares on me, waiting for the smallest mistake, the faux-pas that would determine what you will be in their eyes. _

_It helped me in a way, ironically. Living in autarky half the time, I could observe others as I pleased from inside my bubble. They seemed to live in a paralleled universe to me, a universe of which I was excluded. Nott crossed off the list from the cradle. _

**OOO**

"…the first person I noticed was Draco." Theo remembered.

**OOO**

_The great charismatic Draco Malfoy: the rebel, the heartbreaker, the angel face of the high school. _

_He came to class every morning on his blazing metallic gray Suzuki GSX-R and offered anyone who wanted to see a real-life U-turn just in front of the gates of the school. He would get off his race horse while taking off his helmet before taking off his leather gloves slowly, finger by finger, and stuffed them in the glove compartment. When he walked through the halls, his boots were almost imprinting the words "I, Draco Malfoy, I'm the SOVEREIGN of this place" onto the wooden-floors. Girls called out to him and he just threw them one of his trademark smirks. He just carried on walking, smirk in place, head held high, Blaise at his right._

_Zabini._

_He was like his shadow, but not really. A bit like his alter-ego but I didn't know enough about this at the time to really affirm something like this. What I knew, is that when you spotted Draco, Blaise was always a few feet away or around. While Draco flaunted himself in front of the girls, Blaise stood more often than not in the background, patient or just indifferent, and then when Draco was tired of strutting around, they would walk away side by side, in one synchronized step. Draco had a big mouth, liked to taunt, was often disrespectful, always egocentric but possessed that undeniable charisma that made people forgive him anything. "People" being the majority of the female population of HOGWARTS._

_Blaise had this constant air of calm and serenity about him that could inspire peacefulness to the most tormented of men, along with a deep, unique, slightly playful but wary gaze. Always wary. By way of constant observation, I ended up with the conclusion that he was Draco's buffer. Indispensable to one another: a pair. Who dominated who, however? At first glance, one would immediately think that it was Draco. But after a thorough analysis…the question remained. Maybe they influenced each other equally—Draco, the free agent, Blaise, the quiet strength._

_And now you're thinking: this kid must have really been bloody bored out of his fucking skull to be disserting about these two guys who weren't even unaware of his existence. _

**OOO**

"…and, inevitably, Blaise. Always together, these two."

"Oh really?" Jenny chirped, as excited as if on Christmas morning. "You two were best friends?" She asked them.

Draco and Blaise looked at each other with lingering smile, as if they were about to burst out laughing at any given moment.

"You could put it that way," Blaise replied.

"What do you mean: put it that way?"

"Well…"

"You were just bearing with each other, is that it?" Jenny suggested.

Draco finally gave in, laughing.

"No, that's too mean. We quite liked each other, actually."

"We were like…let's say…one single body divided in two. Draco was the right side and I was the left. Almost as if the same blood flowed in our veins." Blaise explained finally, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Jenny nodded slowly.

"Oh, I see…it's even stronger than friendship in that case. It's almost symbiotic."

There were stars in her eyes.

"Hm, symbiotic…no, I wouldn't say that. With flying sparks seems more like it," Blaise corrected with a small smile.

**OOO**

**[BLAISE]**

_Drake and I had received our first guitar, our first real electric guitar, when we were twelve. Our parents had offered them to us at the same time, on Christmas. Well not exactly both our parents…it was my grandma who'd given me her son's, but whatever._

_They actually had probably regretted it bitterly, I think, because from that moment on, our grades had taken a real swine dive with no parachute. _

_There was a constant competition between us; it was almost the essence of our pair. When he had something I didn't, I had to get my hands on it at any cost. When I decided to do something, he had to outdo me. When I dated some bird, he showed up with a prettier one the next day. If he jumped over a fence, I'd climb an entire wall._

_And that's how it was, all the time. At the time, it amused us, it really didn't matter._

_The guitar, that became the splitting element. Draco beat me, hands down. His fingers glided over the chords as if he'd been born with the instrument in hand. It enraged me, to be honest. It enraged me to see him better than I was at something. And he knew it. And he played with that. It almost became the cause for a falling-out between us._

_I fell back on the bass then, something in which I managed, all in all. Not badly actually. Even rather well. Very well through the years. Draco, too, had perfected his skills. Once his jubilation at seeing me rabid with jealousy because of his aptitude to make roar his majestic instrument was gone, he really started practicing. _

_The guitar slowly took up an important place in his life and his daily routine; it went beyond being a simple hobby. He put it above all and anything else. He had become crazed with that thing. He would come to class in the morning with bags under his eyes because he had spent the night practicing then decide to skip the afternoons because having not been grating the chords of his troublesome lover for three hours almost made him sick to his stomach._

_One day—I still remember the exact date: it was a Saturday, the 9th of May during our last year of high school—Draco had bugged me to listen to him play a piece of his own composition. I was still slightly jealous of him at the time but, by force of harassment, I had finally given in and threw myself on the small disemboweled sofa in his garage, signaling to him to start with a tilt of my chin. While he accorded his guitar, I took a lighter from a nearby coffee table and it took me four times to light up my fag._

_Draco started playing and I remember that the cigarette slipped right out of my hands in the middle of the piece. I listened to him until he was through with my jaw dropped low. I was stunned. Devastated. Astonished by that much talent._

"_Mate…"_

_I couldn't even find my words._

"_Mate…! Fucking hell! Mate!"_

_Draco just started at me in complete incomprehension. I had stood up then, staggering. I was in admiration. In adoration. I didn't know what to say anymore. I think that I even had tears in my eyes._

"_Mate! Fucking hell, what did you just play here?" I whispered._

_Draco seemed to be panicking._

"_What? What's going on? Was it shit?"_

"_But…but…but it was PURE GENIUS!" I screamed, kneeling on the ground, overwhelmed by emotion._

_I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe my ears. I asked him to play it again. I listened intently. Then I told myself that I had a ruby, a gem here, a bloody diamond in the rough, call it was you want but all in all, it was gold that my ears were hearing._

_I was moved. I couldn't stay still. I took his head between my hands and kissed him. Then I was laughing out loud. Draco, on the other hand, had swiftly walked away to wash his mouth. _

"_I was thinking…"_

_Draco exalted a tendril of smoke that rose majestically toward the garage ceiling. He slowly handed me the second royal joint that we were smoking since the beginning of the afternoon, laying on the garage floor, side by side. I took a long drag from it, letting the smoke blacken my lungs and dizzying my mind before expelling slowly and studying the voluptuous dance surrounding me._

"_Why not create…"_

_Draco took back the fag from between my fingers._

"_A band?"_

"_Yeah,"_

"_Just you and me?"_

"_Why not. For now,"_

"_I thought about it, actually, been thinking about it these past few days…"_

"_And?"_

_He parted his lips, freeing the captive smoke, then had a slow smile with his eyes closed._

"_And, as long as you don't snog me, why not."_

**OOO**

Jenny waited, but nothing more came from Blaise's mouth. She then pouted.

"Ooh, you're really no fun. You start telling us about something then you stop short, leaving us hanging. I almost get the impression that you're doing it on purpose to solidify that unbearable mystery surrounding you!"

"No, absolutely not! It's just that… weren't we supposed to talk about how we all came together, here, now?"

Blaise frowned deeply, turning toward Theo before chuckling and raising his hands in the air.

"Wow, I'm lost," he declared while the audience laughed.

"Ok, ok, you're right, we aren't done yet with how you all met—but don't think that am done with you two, though," Jenny assured them, wiggling her index finger.

"That never even crossed my mind," Blaise replied, a large grin on his lips, his shades still hiding his eyes.

"Good, now Theo, my apologies, I cut you off in the middle of your story,"

Theo opened his mouth slowly, frowning, as if rummaging through his thoughts.

"You were talking about me," Draco reminded him gently, leaning toward him.

There were a few laughs and Theo shook his head.

"Right."

**OOO**

[**THEODORE**]

_I also started smoking around that time. Maybe a month or so after I arrived at HOGWARTS._

_I'd nick two or three fags from my father in the morning—who'd pester about some evil presence lurking in the house that stole his cigarettes—that I'd smoke in front of the school's gate every morning before going in and at night before leaving. It was bloody disgusting. The very first time I tried it, I had the supreme wisdom to do it in an isolated alley in town, where I wasn't susceptible to be seen. I had coughed, spit, suffocated before finally being able to finish the entire fag without risk._

_I had bought a lighter of which I was ridiculously proud; a trinket that I had found at the newspaper stand with the pop art portrait of the four Beatles. To avoid my father finding it, I had stuck it in the elastic band of my boxers._

**OOO**

"Yes, right, as I was saying, I had noticed Draco and Blaise first at school. But the first person I had talked to had been Hermione."

The set screens instantly projected Hermione's image, sitting next to Blaise, and who had, for sole movement, blinked.

**OOO**

_Granger._

_That girl…!_

_My God._

**OOO**

"And so?" Jenny encouraged. "How did that go? We are literally hanging on your lips!"

The cameras were fixated on Hermione, though. She readjusted a black curl and attempted a smile. Cold. Draco, via the big screen placed in front of them, was staring at her unblinking.

**OOO**

**[DRACO]**

_She was arrogant. Just like me. An outcast. She interested me. Inaccessible. Just like me. Disdainful. I love it. Proud, frosty. I adore it. Detached. She irritated me. Distant. I wanted her even more. Beautiful._

_Beautiful._

_So fucking beautiful. _

_And it was fucking killing me, that I, Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, that I, who had just to snap his fingers and get a whole grape of girls, she wouldn't look my way. Not even once. Never. And I did, always. Fucking all the time. _

_Always._

**OOO**

"Nothing transcendent, you know? She just asked for a light. And she was gone." Theo explained with a small smile.

There were more laughs in the audience.

"That's something at least!" Jenny exclaimed.

"At least," nodded the youngest of Nine.

**OOO**

**[THEODORE]**

_That girl. _

_I had heard about her maybe weeks before being able to put a name to a face. Granger this, Granger that…at least twice a week on average, I'd get a glimpse of gossip about the ghost girl. The sort of gossips that were real rubbish, such as: "have you see her shoes? Oh my God, they are vile, they looked like shit-stomper…" or something like "have you seen her stockings? They were laddered, she looked like a hobo with those," and another to respond "Are you serious? Her parents are like filthy rich, she's just playing the rebel, as per usual. Pathetic, that girl."_

_Anyway, the stuff was even lower than that of the level of kindergarten kids. _

_But, in the long run, my curiosity was spiked and I started studying every girl that crossed my path, looking for the potential Granger corresponding to the criteria (as subjective as they were) that I had gathered from the rumors that the girls from my classes spewed. Just to know if she deserved the entire ruckus about her._

_I wasn't even thinking about it anymore when I noticed her for the first time. It was a morning and our English professor wasn't there for the third time in a row—a rumor was going around about him being in depression, well, anyway—and we had been sent to an empty classroom for study period. What hit me immediately—well, maybe 'hit' is too strong of a word, anyway—was to see, sitting in the far corner of the room, his back against the wall, seemingly half asleep, Blaise Zabini without Draco Malfoy._

_It was the first time that I had seen the duet dissociated and I had to admit, it felt strange. He was wearing a checkered scarf that covered the lower part of his face and he hadn't even bothered to take off his leather jacket. The cattle noises that our group made when entering the room seemed to wake him a little because he opened one eye, then the other and watched us with a vacant stare as we scattered around. Then he closed his eyes._

_It was exactly 9:09 – I knew that because, since the giving of the study period, I was staring at the clock every thirty six seconds and, during the last remaining twenty four seconds, my eyes were either fixated on Blaise (because I was still drawing my hypothesis about the couple Malfoy-Zabini) or on Dean Thomas, a guy from the same grade with dark complexion (because…just because)—when she entered the classroom. I mean, I didn't even have to be told anything or informed about her identity to know that it was her, the famous Hermione Granger. And, as strange as this may seem, I wasn't at all expecting that…_that.

_She was short, 4 feet 11 inches, 5 feet at most, but exuded such confidence and such indifference toward what was happening around her that it was striking. She had a sort of—and I can't find a better suited term for this—Amazonian jungle of auburn curls coiling all around her face, a thin face, emaciated, with high cheekbones. Except for the school's required uniform, she was wearing those infamous laddered stockings, which had ignited a debate, with huge leather boots with loops and black climbing laces, which showed inkling for a rather gothic style. A black messenger bag hung from her shoulder, "S.H.A.M.E" scribbled with black marker on the flap of the bag._

"_Well!" exclaimed the supervisor who was watching us when Granger offered her the piece of paper she had in hand. "What is it going to be today?"_

_She scanned the message, her frown deepening further as she read down the paper._

"_To the back," she then ordered dryly, designating the back of the room. "Quickly, now."_

_Absolutely no emotion whatsoever registered on the girl's face. She walked, like a robot, toward the back of the classroom, and then noisily dropped her bag on the last table of the row I was sitting in before taking a seat. She crossed her arms and dipped her head low, making it so that we now couldn't see her face behind her impressive hair mass. Having religiously followed her with my eyes, as did the majority of the other students present in the room, when I finally turned back, I could notice that Blaise was now wide awake and the he, also, couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her, even if she wouldn't move from her position until the end of the period._

_He had even straightened in his seat._

**OOO**

"And what did you think of Hermione, back then?" Jenny wanted know.

Theo made a weird face.

"Er, what do you mean by "think of Hermione"? Do you mean…physically speaking?" he asked, his voice raised an octave.

Red signal. The audience laughed. Hermione shook her head, a chuckle on the tip of her lips. Then she seemed to remember the cameras still aimed at her and feigned to tighten her pony-tail.

Draco and Blaise both had a smile that Jenny didn't fully understand.

**OOO**

_It was a week later. I had just walked out of the school gates and – newly acquired reflex – had already taken out my cigarette to smoke near the benches. The cold weather hadn't been kind to us that year and the wind was blowing so forcefully that flicking a flame from my lighter strengthened my thumb. After the fifteenth try, I succeeded in lighting half the tip, enough to be able to take a drag, but I was waiting for the wind to subside even for a minute to be able to smoke decently. _

_She walked out. I was on my third drag and was staring at the crowing string of students strolling out of the establishment as if they didn't exist; because I didn't exist in their eyes either. Except for her—she saw me._

_She was rummaging through her bag while walking distractedly, took out a crumpled pack of red Winstons before tucking a fag between her lips. She then fumbled in her pockets, looking for her lighter undoubtedly, for about a good thirty seconds before closing her eyes, as if stressed out. When she opened her eyes again, she threw an impatient circular stare around her and her eyes landed right on me. I almost choked on my cigarette. She walked right up to me, with a more determined and vigorous stride than the last time I came across her. I felt myself falter further and further. _

"_You have a light?" she asked once she reached me._

_Two things hit me then; her voice—broken, deep, but singularly feminine; and her eyes—amber, almost orange hued. I almost startled in astonishment when she planted her gaze right into mine. Her eyes seemed supernatural. _

"_Hm, yeah, wait, two seconds…"_

_And then I started to pray, very, very, very, very, very hard for the wind to stop even for ten seconds; just enough for me not to come off as a moron._

_She approached the beautiful flame that flickered, at the third try, from the lighter and a stray curl caressed my hand while she placed the tip of her fag above the fire. She back away afterward, expelling a tendril of smoke in the air before taping her cigarette while thanking me with a brief nod of her head. _

_And that was it. She turned on her heels._

_The next day, before the recap after lunch break, I saw her in the hallways. I was about to take out the material I'd be needing for my next class when she walked through the revolving blue doors of the corridor. She always walked straight in front of her, indifferent to all and any form of life around her and disappeared on the other side._

_Later that same day, when school let out, I positioned myself at the same place as yesterday and waited, lit cigarette between my lips, smoking as slowly as possible. She finally appeared, always blindly rummaging through her bag. Once her Winston stuck between her lips, I crossed my fingers as I've never bloody crossed them before, wishing for her not have a lighter and that she would come ask me for a light again. _

_I pulled on my fag, eyes strained on the pocket of her perfecto she was searching inside of, and searching again before she abruptly raised her head and stared right at me. Once again, the smoke went down the wrong pipe and nearly asphyxiated me. Still staring at me, as if she wanted to read my thoughts, she took out a black lighter from her pocket and lowered her head to light her fag._

_My disappointment had been almost palpable because, a second later, she cracked half a smile in my direction, a mixture between mockery and pity, while expelling a first puff of smoke, as if to say "no, not this time little guy, sorry". And then she turned on her heels again._

**OOO**

"Oh come on guys! What is it with you and this habit of never finishing your sentences?" Jenny feigned – or not—getting angry.

Theo chuckled.

"Well…I don't really know what to say. Actually, there's a lot to say. I have a Beatles lighter at the time…hum. I don't know if that's interesting…anyone? No? No, then." He coughed, annoyed.

He cracked a sorry smile, a smile dimple creasing his right cheek. Jenny was indeed furious to having collecting any real ground breaking scoop from the band but then, at that moment; she'd have just gobbled the drummer whole with that ravaging smile of his.

"I really don't know what to say! We don't really have a terribly exciting life, you know…" He apologized.

"Oh, tell that to someone else!" Jenny laughed, while arching weirdly in her armchair. "I'm certain that there's a _ton_ of exciting stuff about you."

"In the press, undoubtedly," Draco replied.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Right. Speaking of which, what are the craziest things that have been told about you?" the hostess bounced back, perfectly professional.

"Oh blimey, a ton indeed!" Blaise exclaimed.

**OOO**

**[BLAISE]**

"_Hermione, hey…Hey! Wait up, where are you going?"_

_While walking down the hallway hurriedly, she turned toward me. When she saw that I was still following her, she started to run._

"_Fucking hell…"_

_I started to run after her, too._

"_Hermione, bloody hell, just wait! What are you playing at?" I bellowed while she kept running away._

"_JUST LEAVE ME BE!" she started screaming before slamming the dressing room door in my face._

_I heaved a long sigh and put my forehead against the wood._

"_Hermione…"_

_No reply._

"_Hermione, please…"_

_Still no reply. I was at my wits end. On the brink of smashing down that door._

"_Please, Hermione, please. Open this door."_

"_Go. To. Hell." A hoarse voice answered me from the other side._

_Well, at least that was something._

"_Would you mind if we had a little conversation first?"_

_Again, dead silence._

"_Come on, op—"_

"_I TOLD YOU TO GET THE HELL AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE! LET ME BREATHE! LET ME—" She swung to door open violently and, her face streaming with tears blackened by her make-up, screamed in my face: "— LIVE!"_

_She stood there staring at me, breathless, beside herself, while seconds ticked by, before whispering:_

"_Now, disappear."_

"_Hermione, we need to talk."_

"_I don't want to talk to you."_

"_You'll need to talk—_

"_I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to you," she repeated covering her ears while she walked backward toward the couch in the dressing room._

"_Very well. Don't talk. Just listen to me."_

"_I don't want to listen to you."_

"_You will have to. Sit down."_

"_No."_

_It was starting to rise. I took a deep breath._

"_Hermione, sit down. It's for you own g—"_

"_NO!"_

"_YOU ARE GOING TO SIT YOUR ARSE ON THE BLOODY SEAT GRANGER AND NOW!" I snapped, seizing her brutally by the wrists to force her to sit._

_She struggled like a queen and, in her gesticulations, caught a pair of scissors with a sharp tip from the dresser._

"_Release me." She ordered with a shaking voice, the tip of the object dangerously pointed toward my head. "Right now." _

_I took another breath, swallowed and let her go. She kept the scissors in her hand, though, and pointed toward her chest this time. I turned my head slowly to the side._

"_Alright, Hermione. Let go of that thing right now. Stop. We are perfectly capable of having an adult conversation."_

"_I told you that I didn't want to be dealing with you."_

"_Ok. Ok. There is no problem. But let go of those scissors."_

_A slow smiled crept on her lips and she continued to back away, scissors still pointing toward her. I took a step forward with my hand slowly lifting, palm up, for her to give it to me._

"_Hermione. Give me that. Please. Give it to me."_

_Her smirk widened while she kept walking backwards._

"_Mister I-can-figure-it-all-out. Mister I-handle-anything."_

_She opened the scissors and snapped it shut on nothing, making me swallow thickly._

"_How does it feel to lose control over the flow of things? How do you feel?"_

_She pointed the tips of the open scissors toward her heart._

"_Mister I-want-to-handle-everything, Mister Omniscient, foretell what am about to do."_

"_Stop your bullshit."_

"_Are you panicking, Blaise?" she whispered, triumphant. _

_I closed my eyes briefly. Yes. It was true that I was bloody panicking. She was practically holding a weapon in her hand and God only knew what she was about to do with that thing. And, in parallel, in two hours tops, we were supposed to have a booklet and an album jacket to shoot for, along with a showcase that had been sold out for over three weeks this same night._

_So, yes, ALLOW ME to be panicking._

"'_Mione…"_

"_Oh look see, now we're trying the soothing method, aren't we?"_

"_Let go of that. Come on, please. Let go of that and I promise you that—"_

"_Shut up. I told you to predict what I intend to do. Here. Right now."_

_I sighed again._

"_Do it." She ordered me._

"…"

"_DO IT!"_

_She was yelling now. Eyes fixated on what could potential cause the loss of all four of us; I was feeling febrile from a second to the next. _

_And then, unexpectedly, she fisted a part of her hair and, her eyes bored provocatively into mine, she cut, cut, cut. The curls spread on the floor, all around her. I was so…so shocked, so stunned that even my limbs felt numb. I watched her take another chunk of her hair and inflict the same treatment to it. Soon enough, the floor was covered with her hair. Her task accomplished, she let go of the scissors that, muffled by the bevy of hair, didn't make a sound._

_It took me maybe five good minutes before claiming back my ability to talk._

"_Are you satisfied?" I stammered._

"_That's for you to tell me, considering how you just love being in other people's shoes."_

"_Hermione, look at me."_

_She shook her head slowly._

"_Look at you," I repeated designating the mirror above the dresser._

"_No." she whispered before literally bursting into tears, right there, in the middle of the changing room, half her entire hair scattered on the floor._

_She immediately hid her face and staggered to the ground, her sobs doubling in intensity. _

"_It's over, 'Mione, it's over…" I said taking her in my arms before she fell backwards._

_She held on to me immediately as if holding on to a lifeline to prevent herself from drowning, wrapping her arms around my neck._

"_It's going to be alright," I repeated, staring at her reflection in the mirror. "It's going to be alright, Hermione."_

_I myself wasn't really completely sure about what I was saying. When I sent for a hair-dressed to come to the dressing room, half an hour later, I threated the woman practically to death to avoid her running her mouth about the hair battlefield she was about to work on in order to rearrange Hermione's haircut into something at least half decent._

**OOO**

"There were some speculations going around about Hermione's haircut when we started out, when she had her hair cut short," Draco said.

"It had, actually, given rise the short hair fashion!" Jenny remembered. "It was a true phenomenon, as I recall. In barely a week, having long hair became an out dated fashion for women."

On the screen, two pictures were projected: one showing Hermione walking out of her hotel in Toronto the same day as her new haircut, on her way to the concert venue located downtown. Clad in perfecto coat along with denim shorts and fishnet stockings riddled with holes, worn leather boots on her feet and huge black sunglasses over her eyes; she seemed to be swarmed by flashes going off here and there, a massive bodyguard maintaining her by the arm while directing her through the crowd of paparazzi, screaming for them to let them through.

Despite the singer attempts to hide her face with her hand from the flickers of the Nikons, we could neatly perceive her newly cut hair, colored a glistening onyx and artistically disheveled.

The other picture showed Hermione again, but the shot had been taken while she was on stage, hands joined on the microphone, seemingly singing her lungs out. Her haircut was a bit flat but the result was even better than before. We could spot Draco in the background with his guitar.

"Rumors started going around, about her having cancer and wanting to, slowly, get used to the side effects of chemotherapy …"

"No way!" Jenny nearly choked on this tidbit of info.

"I swear, it was all rather far-fetched."

"And what is the rumor that always seems to come back about you all?"

"Without contest that of our separation," Blaise replied matter-of-factly. "It's our every year tradition. If it doesn't come up at least five times per year, then something is wrong."

Jenny chuckled.

"How many times this year?"

"Only three," Blaise retorted, feigning being dejected.

"Ouch," Jenny grimaced, sympathetically.

The camera captured a circular view of the bleacher where half the audience where in stitches before coming back to the set and aiming itself at Hermione once again. Jenny, spotting the singer's pixilated face on the big screen, remembered the thirty nine other questions written on her cards, all concerning Hermione.

"Hm, well! Let us move onto the next netizens' questions…if you have nothing to add, of course," Jenny suggested.

"Go right ahead!" Draco said.

The hostess then turned toward the silent presence at the other side of the couch. The singer was resting against the armrest, legs crossed.

"Hermione," Jenny begun solemnly, "the majority of collected questions revolve around you,"

"Really?" Hermione said with rise of eyebrows.

"Well, if a percentage was needed, I'd day eighty percent of the questions are about you."

There were screams in the audience. Hermione licked her lips before smiling.

"Ah! You smiled! My God, how rare is that!" Jenny chirped, triumphant.

Hermione's smile widening, despite of her, and she feigned to hide it behind her hand while the audience broke into a round of applauds. Blaise leaned into her to whisper something, laughing. She rolled her eyes then, shooting him a sideway glance, which made him laugh harder.

"Enough messing around. There are so many questions about you, each more interested than the next, that the choice had been very difficult and every time, we had the impression of dismissing something crucial."

Hermione blinked repeatedly, slightly baffled, but already Jenny was proceeding:

"But! We have succeeded, though, in regrouping a good number of them down to one single question that your fans, the press and also, who know, _the entire world_ is wondered about."

"Wow, please, slow down!"

Hermione signaled for the hostess to stop, then took a deep breath with her head thrown back. She repositioned herself again, staring at Jenny who was studying her strangely.

"Alright, it's fine, I'm ready," she announced, provoking several laughs in the audience.

"…very well."

Jenny opened her mouth, ready to pick up where she left off but then she had a small muffled exclamation.

"You are rather…stranger, do you know that?"

"Is this the question everyone is asking?"

"No, no! It's just…anyway. Let's go back to the matter at hand: the question."

"The question,"

"Well, it's quite simple: who are you really, Hermione?"

The singer nodded her head slowly, as if absorbing what Jenny had asked before smirking, amused.

"Blimey, that's a very good question…"

* * *

**A quick update because I was really happy about the feedback on this, thank you so much everyone! **

**The next chapter won't be published this fast but I'll do my best if you take a little bit of your time and leave a review, I promise you.**

_To be continued..._


	3. Rodeo

**Nine: The Beginnings of a Legend**

**By**: _I-AM-CHUCK-BASS_

**Translation** :_ Bleak Dawn_

**Beta**:_ Violet_

**OOO**

**[DRACO]**

"_Mate,"_

_I exhale. Opaque halo. Thermal shock._

"_Mate," Blaise repeats._

_I sigh again._

"_Yeah."_

"_Look at me."_

"…"

"_Please, Drake."_

_I sigh again. But then look up, half-heartedly. And when I meet his gaze, I immediately regret it._

_We are in Kyoto, on the balcony of a suite forty floors above Japanese ground. It's freezing cold and we are clad in jeans and shirts alone. We are in the middle of a promotional tour and we are meant to move to Amsterdam the following morning. Behind the bay window, the party is raging. Guests are dancing, drinking, getting high, puking and happily dazed. The music—some mind-numbing commercial electronic shit—filters to us in muffled thrums._

_And Blaise is looking at me, staring at me, drilling hole in me with his eyes and, fuck, I can't take it any longer and I tell myself 'Draco, look away, go back inside, do something, for fuck sake', but I stay there, drowning, trapped in his stare and allowing myself to slowly be gained by fear, then terror, paralysis, loss of confidence and I tell myself that I'd rather be wasted with the other fuckers behind the glass, and drink until I forget even my own damn name, what I do, what I am, instead of having Blaise stare at me endlessly the way he is doing now._

"_Promise me," he begins and his voice shakes dangerously, which is bad, "promise me that we will never split, never, for a girl. For _**that **_girl."_

_It's high up. I mean, where we are standing now. It's really high up. I almost feel faint. I lean my head forward, into the void._

"_Mate," and the begging edge in his voice is multiplied. _

_Face offered to the wind, I close my eyes. Barks of feminine drunk laughter reach us and, abruptly, the music assault us full force as the bay window slides open. _

"_You're not coming?" asks a high pitched voice for 60,000Yen an hour, extras included._

_Blaise dismisses her with a wave of his hand. The door closes._

_I bend my head further still._

_I feel my best friend's presence standing behind me. He doesn't make a move. He stares at me. He doesn't stop staring at me. He is waiting for an action, a reaction—something—from me._

_A minute goes by._

_The longest of my life._

_I lean my whole body forward…_

"_You really are a fucking wanker," he articulates slowly._

"_Blaise, I promise you." I end up whispering, loud enough for him to hear._

"_A fucking louse of a wanker,"_

"_Blaise…"_

"_And here I thought that you cared more about our friendship than that."_

_I sigh for the nth time and straighten back. Disgust and Fury in person are staring at me through his eyes. _

Stop, please. Don't judge me, stop it, Blaise, please. Quit staring at me like this.

_I have the distinct, literal impression that someone is driving a stake slowly into my heart. Through my chest. Into my throat. Everywhere. Blood gushes. Everywhere. But Blaise doesn't give a fuck._

_He keeps staring at me. His gaze disgusted at first is slowly covered by a veil of coldness. His furious features relax into a perfect mask of equanimity. He stares at me again, from head to toe and, that's it, we have become strangers. Complete strangers to one another._

_That's it._

_He spins on his heels in one unequivocal step and slides the window open with a resolute move, without bothering to close it behind him. I follow his form making its way through the crowd of wasted party people, elbowing them aside to get further, and then disappearing for good at the corner of the hallway, heading for the suite's front door._

_A long time goes by after he leaves; I'm still starting at the place where my eyes couldn't follow his progression anymore._

_And I cry. Standing. Alone on the balcony._

_I cry when I glimpse, behind the murky veil partially obscuring my sight, Hermione's silhouette swaying slowly at the music's rhythm, in the middle of the room, a half empty glass in her hand, her long black her disheveled, her make-up smeared around her eyes. _

_Her dress almost hikes up to her bum. The straps hanging freely down her shoulders. She has abandoned her high heels and dances bare feet now, on the carpet, swirling around herself, her hips undulating lasciviously, her head tilting lazily from side to side, eyes closed. Then, without halting, she brings her cup to her lips and slowly drinks the content. Slowly. Still dancing. A drop slips, slides down the corner of her lips to her chin. She then throws away the empty goblet, in the air, and turns her back on me._

_Staring at the spot where Blaise has disappeared and where Hermione is now dancing, I still cry. _

**OOO**

"Actually," Hermione begun before pausing again seemingly lost in thoughts. "To tell you the truth, I have absolutely no idea."

There was such a silence then over the whole studio that it was frightening. The audience, the staff, Jenny and, very likely, the viewers at home, were literally hanging on the blood red lips of the singer.

"You mean to tell us that you absolutely have no idea about the person you are?" Jenny tried to understand, her blue eyes intensely fixated on her only female guest.

Hermione brought the microphone to her mouth but let another moment go by before answering.

"I wake up, every morning, I look at the mirror and I feel like I'm looking at a stranger. Ceaselessly I wonder about who I am or ask myself "who is this girl, this woman watching me? Who is she?" I can't figure it out. Sometimes…" and she stopped again, eyes staring at something backstage, before starting another sentence altogether: "It's truly a question I cannot answer. I wouldn't be able to answer objectively if I were asked to describe myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that some days, I can wake up with the certainty that I am a loyal person and the next minute I will be babbling about the biggest secret I was supposed to keep. I could certainly convince myself of being the nastiest person to have ever been on this earth and surprise myself by accomplishing some string of good deeds all week long. I really can't have an impartial opinion on myself, to judge or define who I am. It's beyond my abilities."

"Some people may say that you are mercurial."

"Absolutely true," Hermione approved immediately. "My mood shifts, at least, five times a day."

"Five times?" chocked Jenny while some people in the audience laughed.

"You get used to it, in the long run. It's now more worrying when she keeps the same mood for a whole day," Theodore supplied.

At this, the whole audience burst out laughing. Hermione shot him a falsely incensed gaze, half a smile on her lips. Jenny glimpsed some sort of maternal glint in her eyes. As if she couldn't really be cross with him because, well, he was Theo.

**OOO**

**[THEODORE]**

_I had started to believe that she had all but forgotten my existence._

_Well, I mean, I don't know—she walked past me in the halls ignoring me royally and she left at night without as much as a glance after lighting up her cigarette. So that was that, a logical conclusion. At the same time, I didn't know what I had expected. She hadn't asked me for a light after that one time, and that was weeks ago, and I had thought that that had been it; I had started to believe that we would become joined at the hip or something. It was so like me to get myself all excited over freaking nothing. _

_March._

_On that day, I had been in a pretty shitty mood. Our math and history teachers had just given us our exam papers back. I had gotten a nine in both of them. I was barely holding myself back from tearing the copies apart and use them to start a campfire in the trash bin in the middle of the damn classroom. Dean Thomas had scored a 16 and 19 respectively. He was trying not to smile, biting down on his lip in a show of solidarity with the rest of us._

_I think that it had been the first time that I had felt the need—I was jonesing for a cigarette. It was unbearable. I could have almost killed for a drag. So, I got out. No, to be more exact: I run out. I had barely cleared the gate when I started fumbling through my pockets like a maniac, looking for my evening fag. When it was finally between my lips, I patted my jacket and my jeans for my lighter._

_Oh greatest irony. Cruel destiny. I couldn't find it. _

_I could have burst into tears right then and there, in front of the high school. I could still picture myself leaving the house that morning in a hurry, leaving the lighter on my bedspread, for anyone out to find. Chastising myself, I closed my eyes. It just had to be now. Today, of all days. Fuck._

_When I opened my eyes again, they immediately fell on Granger who was walking through the gates. Same ritual: Winston in the front pocket of her messenger bag, lighter in that of her jacket. I watched the flame flicker and burn the tip of her fag, masochist that I am, while the rest of my being couldn't help sighing for the smoke she inhaled afterwards. _

_I don't know, to this day, where I found the guts to walk up to her, but I did, and I was there, in front of her, mumbling awkwardly a question of which the only audible words were "lighter" and "please". She blew her smoke right in my face, watching me from head to toe with her amber eyes before handing me what I was asking for. Cigarette lit, I almost moaned in pleasure when I felt the toxic smoke take possession of my lungs. I handed her back her lighter and she said:_

"_What direction are you heading in?"_

_At first, I thought she was talking to someone else. Then when I realized she had asked me, me, Nott._

"_I, er, I'm, hm, heading there," I replied, pointing to the right side of the street._

_She nodded, taking a drag from her fag. The wind blew at some tendrils of her auburn hair over her eyes and she pushed it away, frowning. _

"_You take the bus?" she asked again._

_She was looking right into my eyes. Have you ever been stared at right in the eye by Hermione Granger? Have you ever got out of it intact? I couldn't find my voice, everything jumbled together, twirling in my head, adjectives, pronouns, block letters, while her orange hued pupils pierced my soul._

"_No. I walk."_

"_Perfect. I'm going that way too." She grounded out before spinning on her heels._

_I watched her walk away, blinking like a moron, having yet to assimilate the fact that Hermione Granger was going heading in the same direction I was. When she reached the edge of the pavement, she turned around and noticed that I had moved an inch. She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head, seemingly saying: "what are you waiting for?". I immediately started to walk toward to her, cutting through a sea of startled people ("wait, how is it possible that this guy is hanging out with her?!") including Draco Malfoy._

_He was leaning against the school gate, Blaise at his right. Both of them were watching me and I met—for the first time ever—Draco's stare. Full force. Have you ever stared at Draco Malfoy right in the eye? Have you ever lived through it? I felt like he was crucifying me with his eyes. But that he also admired me a bit. As if he was abruptly considering my existence. Hating me all the while. I don't know, it was difficult to describe. If it was necessary to establish a connection between him and Hermione, it was through their similar stare. Both were hard to ascribe because they were a blend of a lot of emotions that their faces never betrayed._

_We didn't say anything for almost five minutes and I didn't dare look toward her. Then, when she threw away her brunt cigarette, she turned to me._

"_Why are you always on your own?"_

_I startled. A weird, frosty sensation traveled up my body, as if this girl was exposing me bare. I hadn't expected her to ask me that kind of cliché question that people usually reserve for the newcomers, such as the usual "where did you come from?"; "Was it better/worse?"; "Did you have friends there?"; "Why did you leave?" etc. But here, now, suddenly, just like that…and I had better get used to it, because Hermione—and I'd learn that later—had the habit of diving straight into the heart of things without bothering about beating around the bush._

"_I didn't know that you watched me."_

_I threw my cigarette too and immediately regretted not having another one to give me a bit of a steadiness. _

"_Everyone watches you," she said, lighting up another fag._

_This comment increased my uneasiness. I had been attending Hogwarts for over a month and had thought—wrongly it seems—that I had succeeded into blinding in, in the walls, the floors, the furniture. Not the crowd. But apparently, even Hermione Granger watched me._

"_What do they think of me?"_

_I instantly lamented asking the question, but Hermione just shrugged._

"_They think you're poor."_

_And slam._

_Four words, that was it. She had just summed up the social status that had followed me since birth. I felt my body melt, my hands shook, my breathing shortened, halting. It was as if someone had hit me on the back of the head. But I kept on walking. I focused on my heartbeat while my eyes started to seriously sting._

_More than two minutes went by without either one of us uttering a word, but then Hermione threw away her second fag down the gutter and said:_

"_I'm going that way."_

_She pointed out at a street paved with suburban houses. I just nodded because it seemed if I moved even an inch of my being, it would break and shatter._

_After all, they were the inches of a poor person. She stared at me a few more seconds, as if waiting for me to say something. It wasn't going to happen._

"_Bye," she finally said before walking away toward her street of spoiled people._

_I watched her leave and as she walked away, I felt hatred. Hatred toward Hogwarts. Toward the teachers. The students. My own classmates. Hatred toward Draco Malfoy. And, above all else, hatred toward the pretentious Hermione Granger._

**OOO**

The cameras focused back on Hermione.

"But there has to be something you can say about you?" Jenny exclaimed, determined to get something other than abstract facts from the singer.

"I can assert that I'm here, on this set," Hermione replied, cleverly. "And that I'm talking to you, here, now."

"Right, of course, but I'm talking about you, personally; is there nothing that you can assert about yourself?"

"I'm a woman. I sing in a band. I'm alive. My level of affirmation could altogether come down to this. As for the details, they can change at any given time."

"You are wearing a skirt. And pantyhose. These are details. Still, they are concrete because no one—not even you— can deny them."

"I could take them off."

"Here, now? On the set?" Jenny cried out.

"You'd have the FCC on your case if I undid even a button on my skirt," Hermione deadpanned.

"…and that's one to nothing for our mysterious singer," Jenny commented while a part of the audience laughed when the light turned red. "You actually seem to have a rather strong personality, alone, at the head of the band. Because, as a singer, Nine as a whole rests on your shoulders. How are you dealing with the pressure?"

Hermione took her time answering. "We handle everything as a group."

Blaise nodded approvingly.

"The simple fact that we are together somewhat lessens the stress level. We are a family and, when we are together as a family, nothing, absolutely nothing can happen to us. However, we aren't completely immune to nervous breakdown from time to time. Especially when we started out. Having been propelled at the top in such brutal way, even violent way, we weren't ready for all the fuss and the pressure back then almost made us lose all control."

**OOO**

_The silence reigning in the room is mortuary. The air is electrified. Tension, everywhere, pressure. It's palpable._

_Blaise is leaning against one of the tables in the dressing room and, arms crossed, stares at the wall in front of him, unblinking. Further away, on the black leather ottoman, Draco is sprawled down, perfectly still with the exception of his left leg, an arm thrown over his eyes, his chest lifting regularly with the rhythm of his breathing. _

_On the armrest of the couch sits Theo, his headphones screwed on his head, eyes closed, each of his hands closed around his drumsticks, beating the air silently in sync with the music in his ears. Hermione is perched on a small round glass table at the center of the room, her legs folded against her chest, head on her kneecaps, her black hair cut short and wild. The flap of a fly's wing would have echoed loudly in the absence of noise that was becoming heavy. _

_Waiting. They are waiting. And this wait becomes, as the seconds tick by, utterly unbearable._

_Less than ten seconds before one of the member would snap and start yelling, giving into the stress, a member of the staff yanks the dressing-room door open._

"_Five minutes and forty six seconds left," he announced with a lively voice. "You should get ready; you're up as soon as the current band finishes its performance. Your agent is waiting for you in the hallway."_

_Draco gets up a bit too quickly and then notices that his hands are shaking. He elbows Theo rather harshly to get him to come back down to earth and takes off his headphones. Hermione gets to her feet as well. Abruptly seized by nausea, she runs horridly toward the bin next to the door and vomits the entire content of her stomach. Her teammates watch her unblinking, as if numb. She chokes, half her head buried in the black plastic bag, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and straightens, swaying, pale as a sheet. _

_She walks out first with an unsteady step and, immediately, her bodyguards surround her and hold her up so she won't collapse._

"_Four minutes," someone shouts again, upping the pressure. "Four minutes remaining."_

_Ten seconds of torpor are needed before Blaise's voice comes out._

"_Let's go," he says, his tone is authoritarian and since that's the Master speaking, the disciples Malfoy and Nott hastily scramble to their feet. _

_In one straight line behind their guide, the three other members of Nine join the corridor where Hermione is allowing a swarm of staff members to manhandle and maul her backstage._

_She resembles a mannequin, in the middle of all that agitation, having her hair pulled this side, her face powdered from that side, and someone was tucking an earpiece into her right ear hurriedly while another stylist states that she has to change her boots immediately and put on heels to better showcase her height, but her skin is too pale, add some more blush on her cheek while I change her necklace—this one was so last year's fashion…Pansy slipped a pill in the palm of her hand._

"_Take this sweetheart, you'll feel much better."_

_She winks at her before running to Blaise who is getting his shirt adjusted to look perfectly disheveled. _

"_Exit stage!" Someone shouts and, just as he says this, the band that has just been on stage barges backstage and, with them, the whole euphoria of the show._

_They are screaming, jumping everywhere, while their staff runs toward them. Draco greets them with a nod of __his__ head._ Günther 7, _the trendy band of Germanic-Hollandaise origin, focused on high doses of electro and rather soft rock sounds. They are the headliners of the Coachella Festival while Nine's name stands in the middle of the program, lost in the midst of a sea of other artists who are, like them, trying to climb the ladder._

"_They are ablaze! Bloody hell! They are fucking on fire! You better keep up, guys. The band that will overthrow Günther isn't even born yet!" screams Klaus, the lead singer, pointing at the following band._

_He screeches then, a mix of hooting and war cry, a string of decibels that are hardly bearable for the human ear, before walking away backwards toward the dressing rooms, unceremoniously flipping off Theodore, Draco, Blaise and Hermione. _

"_In a year, let's say, a year and a half – and am being kind – nobody in the music industry or anyone else out there will remember your fucking mugs!" Pansy barks, flipping him back with both her middle fingers raised, while Petra, the other singer of Günther, stares down at Hermione hauntingly before joining her teammates down the hall._

"_Thirty seconds!" comes another shout._

_Everything moves, everything rushes forward. Someone shoves the guitarists, the drummer and the singer toward the edge of the backstage. Pansy assures them that they are going to blow the roof off the place, that they are going to make a name for themselves because Coachella, it's the consecration, and that Günther 7—_

"_My God, how have they even managed to make it with such a pathetic name? And 7, what's that about? Their IQ score?"_

_This last comment grants a smile out of Theo but Hermione is stuck in her own bubble. She's looking around, completely oblivious to anything. And someone announces that it's only fifteen seconds now. Everything moves very, very quickly. Hermione feels the need to puke again. Her whole body sways. Blaise hold her on one side, Draco holds the other. Theo keeps his eyes closed. And suddenly—_

"_The band NINE!"_

—_they are propelled on the front of the stage. A horde of applauds, noises, screams, yelling everywhere, everywhere. They walk forward slowly, baby steps, watching, with startled expressions, the parterre of five thousand and five hundred people standing before them._

_Hands damp and shaking, Hermione grabs the microphone. The crowd screams still. She has difficulty breathing. Her hands are shaking so badly she can't seem to curl her fingers around the bloody thing. Five thousand and five hundred people. Her sight blurs. Five thousand and five hundred people. Her mouth is dry. Her voice isn't coming out._

_Five thousand and five hundred people._

**OOO**

"Lose all control?" Jenny repeated, turning her head to the side. "What do you mean by lose all control?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Oh, well, you know…lose all control." She said shortly, evasive.

**OOO**

**[BLAISE]**

_She is screaming._

"_EVERYBODY LOVES ME ANYWAY!"_

_And another line, and another one after that._

_And another pink pill. A green one._

_She staggers throughout the room. Everyone staggers with her. She's a wreck. A human wreck. She holds herself up to three people dancing with her. Then falls. Lamely._

_Draco catches her—drags her on the floor—then hoists her up against him. He kisses her, holding her by the nape of her neck. It's noisy. Hermione sighs. He grabs her abruptly by the waist and lifts her on the bar. He is still kissing her. It's bestial. Then he literally tears her top apart all over the surface of the bar. The guy behind them emerges and shoves them before collapsing on the floor, two inches away from an overdose. Hermione feels around at her side, and grabs the first bottle that her hands meet, takes a long, very long swing of the liquor, almost chokes on it before tossing the bottle to the floor. The clear liquid spreads, flows and floods the wooden surface. Draco takes off her skirt swiftly. _

"_Everybody loves me, everybody loves me, everybody loves me…" Hermione repeats over and over again, drunk, her eyes bloodshot._

_She looks nothing like the Hermione I love. When she turns her head and meets my eyes, she gives me a perverted smile._

_Draco pulls violently on her bra which snaps promptly. I feel sick. It's only temporary._

"…_everybody loves me, everybody loves me…"_

_She puts her hand on the heap of white powder and moans extensively, her head tilted backwards. Her moans morph into groans which get louder and louder. She runs that same hand into Draco's golden hair, leaving a trail of white behind—ironically, the stereo blasts in a continuous loop « Yeah, we talkin' 'bout cocaine, cocaine, just about cocaine, so that's how we roll »—then clenches her hand into a first around his hair, her body in spasms. _

_Theo enters._

_His eyes are also bloodshot. His hair is wild and there are angry red marks along his neck. He stares at Draco and Hermione then at me and I want to ask him why he has those lacerations but I know, deep down, where those marks are from and anyway, I can't even talk—what's the use—I don't even want to talk so I watch him slide slowly to the ground. Then lay down completely. His hands spread across his face. He rolls on his side. Cry, maybe. Someone steps over him uncaring on their way to the bathroom._

_I feel sick. It's merely a rough patch._

_Hermione is screaming for him not to stop, not to stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't, do not…_

_I look away._

_I feel sick._

_What have we become?_

_I feel so impossibly sick._

**OOO**

"You're not helping…" Jenny sighed.

"What do you want me to say? We are humans, just like everyone else. And there are moments where the pressure is so great that we lose our footing. Fame only serves to increase and multiply that process."

"Do you mean to say that you had a hard time dealing with this precocious notoriety?"

"Precocious is the right word for it. We were, for the most part, sill kids. Children, really. We weren't ready. It had been too quick for us but, despite all that, I regret nothing. It was a life experience but one has to have a strong mindset, a _very_ strong mindset in order to resist." Hermione replied, emphasizing on the last words of her answer.

**OOO**

**[THEODORE]**

"_Are they still out there?"_

_He slowly pulls on a corner of the curtain, looks out carefully and nods._

"_Fuck!"_

_I look for my cigarettes, hands trembling. Aside from the one filtering from the bathroom, there is no light in the suite. All the curtains are drawn shut and the whole room is drowning in darkness._

_I take my first drag, still unable to calm myself down._

"_What about now, are they still there?"_

_He sighs exasperated before taking another look and nodding again. I swear violently. I need to get out. I have to get out. I must get out. I am going crazy. I have to get the fuck out of here._

_I crush my fag despite the fact that I've barely touched it and light up another one immediately. I get up, start pacing. Sit down. Get up again. Crush the cigarette. Punch the bed's wooden frame. Inquire again about whether they are still at the hotel's door or not._

"_Fucking hell, yes! It's the hundredth time you asked me."_

"_Shut up. Don't start."_

_Don't start._

_Don't start._

_Tell me, are they still out there?_

_Are they still out there?_

_Are they?_

_Answer me!_

"_You're pissing me off Theo."_

_He slams the bathroom door behind him and mumbles, "the day you'll learn to come to terms with…"_

_I sit down. It's rising, rising, rising… it's been half an hour and am still trapped in this room. (You shut up Theo, you fucked up big time!) I look around, as if on the look-out. There's a cylindrical plastic box overturned on the unmade bed. I pounce on it, empty the last three remaining piles in the palm of my head and swallow them dry. Then I grab my cellphone and dial, fingers trembling, the only number I know by heart._

"_Theo," comes Blaise's sleepy voice._

_And then I break. Between sobs, I tell him that I've been trapped in one of the Palermo's rooms for a bloody eternity with…with…well, you already know Blaise, I don't have to fucking spell it out for you, fucking hell, I don't know what to do, there are paparazzi outside, in the hallway—fucking everywhere, shit, bloody fuck, I don't fucking know what to do…_

"_Alright, Theo, just calm down,"_

_But I can't calm down, you don't understand, what if they take a picture of me with…_

"_Calm down," he orders._

_I gasp but, after a moment, I'm quiet._

"_Now, listen to me. You must not have your picture taking with him. Absolutely not. So let him leave first—"_

"_But what if he tells—"_

"_Do as I say. If he doesn't hold his tongue, I will handle him. Let him leave. And wait forty minutes at least before leaving too."_

"_But—"_

"_Do as I say!"_

_He finally gets out of the bathroom, dressed, takes something from the nightstand. I feel him turn behind me and stare at me so I speak first, "I'll call you."_

_I don't turn around when the front door closes behind him. Once I'm alone, I break down again and search the whole room from top to bottom, choking on my tears and everything is blurry in the obscurity but I find the last pile on the edge of the sink—he left it there for me—and put it in my mouth. Leaning against the ceramic sink, staring at my startled reflection, I breathe loudly, unevenly, as if trying to keep my head above water in order to avoid the drowning._

**OOO**

"Did you all have it, this strong mindset?" asked Jenny, addressing the rest of the members. "Because, if memory serves, Blaise alone was of age when "_The King_" was released and reached the top of the charts, staying there for the remaining of five weeks in a row. Before being overthrown by Günther 7's new opus."

Draco chuckled disdainfully, and Jenny didn't miss it. She jumped at it, "did I just mention one of you former rivals?"

"Klaus and I were really good friends before all that…drama. I find it quite a pity that alcohol and illegal substances had taken him away from his talent. He was an exceptional musician. He inspired us greatly, back then," Draco assured with a solemn nod and Jenny had to force herself to break free from the mesmerizing hold the guitarist had on her.

The entire audience clapped enthusiastically at his wise words. Blaise, though, had to force himself not to start crying with laughter.

Jenny shook her head, puzzled.

"Right, well, hum…Hermione," she blurted out all of a sudden, as if she had just remembered something important. "You were seventeen when the first album was released and propelled you at the top. You have then become an emblematic figure in the rock scene. Cold in appearance, inaccessible to the media, but still, endowed with a voice that can melt the coldest of hearts…you have become a fantasy for a whole generation. Role model to thousands of girls and women. A muse, an icon who has inspired numerous artists, photographers – Karl Lagerfeld, to name the most prestigious – high fashion designers – De Castebajac dedicated a whole collection to you in the spring of 2007, Miu Miu has even named one of her bags 'Hermione Granger', the nail polish product 'Noir Granger' by Yves St Laurent is truly a reference…"

Hermione bit her lip, amused by this enumeration.

**OOO**

**[HERMIONE]**

_He tells me to bend backwards, a bit more…just like that, it's perfect, ok, look at me. Disdain, I want disdain, stare me down, perfect, just like that, don't move, don't move an inch, love. Alright, now turn your head to the side – not so much! Just like that, that's it, don't move. Put your hand on you hip, a little lower, ok, now look at me again, look bored, bored out of your mind, you're fed up, and if it was up to you, you'd be out of here, that's it, perfect, you are perfect, just like that, narrow your eyes a bit…perfect, you are divine Hermione._

_Bloody hell how I love your stare. Undo your hair now…slowly…perfect, perfect…run a hand through it…take your time. Lift your chin a bit, look down on me again. You are the lead singer of Nine, you are at the head of an empire, you are the Queen of this World Hermione, no one can resist you, who am I to you? Look at me, really stare me down, be haughty…perfect, fucking hell, you are Perfection incarnate…another one…my God, you are amazing, don't move…perfect, perfect…don't move an inch, love, you are incredible…_

_Black Wayfarers over his eyes, legs crossed, Draco can't take his eyes off of me. Not for a single second or even half of it. He is sitting in a leather armchair near the bay window, a few feet behind Zacharias Smith, photographer for Vogue, who is capturing the future page spread of next month's issue dedicated to, well, the Queen of this World._

**OOO**

**[THEODORE]**

_The next day, when the bell rang, indicating the end of class, I dragged my feet to leave. I gathered my stuff as slowly as I could, then, when the room was empty enough for an underprivileged being like me to manifest his presence; I got up, grabbed my bag and headed for the exit. A mere two strides to the door, I bumped into student who was entering the classroom as I was leaving it._

"_Sorry!"_

_It was Dean Thomas. He took a step back with an embarrassed smile. I stood still with my feet glued to the ground._

"_Are you okay? I'm sorry, I wasn't looking," he said again._

_I didn't say anything. I just stood there, still as a stone statue, unable to move an inch. He studied me with a questioning stare, as if I was some kind of outer space strange thing that no one has yet figured out._

"_hum…I just forgot my binder, on the table…over there," he explained, pointing at somewhere behind me._

_No reaction. My brain, my limbs, my nerves—nothing was responding anymore, nothing was functioning. _

"_I need through," he asked, his voice irritated and I felt the coldness and the command with which he spoke entered my ears and unlocked my abilities, allowing me to step aside for him to get to his table and get his binder._

_On his way out he asked me again to move aside—with an impatient 'excuse me', almost spiteful – and walked away hurriedly, disappearing at the corner. I turned my head toward the bay window covering the left part of the hallway and noticed that the night had already fallen. The reflection the mirror surface sent me was of my blushing face. I patted my burning cheeks and closed my eyes, berating myself. 'Moron' was at the top of the list._

_When I finally got out, there were only a handful of students left in front of the school. My hand still on my cheek, I walked through the gates, and the list in my head was down to 'complete retard' when someone called out my name._

"_What the fuck took you so long?"_

_I spun around and noticed Granger sitting on the bench I usually occupied to smoke my evening cigarette. Her fingers trapping her Winston were red from the cold, frozen around the fag, her cheekbones and her lips were pink, a clear indication that she must literally have been freezing from the wait. I stared at her, trying to hide my surprise and resume my walking without stopping. When I heard her follow, I smirked despite myself._

"_What? Are you cross with me?" she asked._

_I didn't reply, kept on walking. I pulled away my warm hand and thrust it in the pocket of my pants' uniform. _

"_You asked me question, I answered you; it's as simple as that," she carried on and I could feel her quicken her pace to catch up to me._

"_I don't give a fuck; it's as simple as that."_

_She stopped walking altogether and, even though I was dying to, I didn't turn around._

**OOO**

**[HERMIONE]**

_I get up, every morning, I look at myself in the mirror and I feel like I'm looking at a stranger. Ceaselessly I wonder about who I am or ask myself 'who is this girl, this woman watching me? Who is she?'._

_She is ugly, that's what she is. A pile of fat, useless, has she ever been useful in anything? She is small—nobody sees her. Does she deserve to be seen, in any case? She has marks, cuts, on her arms, her legs. She is insane, this girl, you must never go near her. She is bad, noxious for herself, toxic for anyone who approaches her, deadly for all her friends—if she even has any._

_And she can cry all she wants, alone, in her villa of 4574.7 square feet with guest house, the echo of her hysterical sobs reverberating from one side of the property to the other; it doesn't change absolutely anything at all. She will remain the same. She could win the whole world, her condition will only worsen. And beware to the one who will fall for her, it will be at his risk and peril. _

_Her father abandons her, year after year._

_Sometimes, he leaves her three thousand pounds in cash on the table of the living room, with a note: "I'm going to [insert name of country here]. Dad". _

_Other times, he sends her cumbersome gifts, far too luxurious, which she stocks in a cupboard. She sometimes stumbles upon programs on the TV about struggling English families who are having a hard time getting by with their meager means and her cuts increases, on her arms, on her legs, and she sends the whole content of the cupboard to multiple associations and benefits but she feels empty, oh so empty._

_She drinks and, after the eighth glass, she calls her father and calls him a wanker, tells him she hates him in every breath she takes, that she would rather be dead than be his daughter. And he just sighs and tells her with an impatient ton that he is in [insert name of city or company here] at a meeting, that he really doesn't have time for her fits and has she been to her psychiatric this week? Go see him, 'Mione, you will feel better afterwards. He will prescribe you something. She calls him a wanker again, a bastard, and hangs up, climbs up to the roof and balances on its edge, a bottle of liquor in her hand._

_On night, she slips and barely manages to grab the gutter. She panics but succeeds in jumping onto the balcony underneath. She runs to her room then, curls up on her bed, under the covers, she sobs, petrified, and it's now pouring rain outside, and there's no one home, no light, she hears cracking sounds, footsteps, she wonders if **they** are coming for her, to get her. Just when she thinks she has become invisible, she now fears death._

_She even has her mother's voice. The same features as her mother. The same eyes as her mother. The same stature as her mother. She is too often told that. She doesn't like it, really she doesn't, being compared to her, it makes her uneasy, it makes her furious, it pushes her further down the fathomless abyss and her cuts multiply and then, you see, it would be a bit inappropriate to compare her ceaselessly to her mother, since she's the one who's killed her. _

* * *

**Thank you for reading and please review. It takes five seconds and helps boost my motivation to translate and update quicker.**


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